


New Age

by stephanieebrown



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Animated), DCU (Comics), Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD, Paralysis, the one with lots of sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-04-02 16:49:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4067374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanieebrown/pseuds/stephanieebrown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which  Dick gets a bullet lodged in his spine and winds up paralysed. The road to recovery is a treacherous one and honestly? He's been all for abandoning the journey at least a dozen times ever since it began. Series of one-shots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Age

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I started a while ago and the idea really intrigued me.

By now the Team should accept that no 'strictly covert' mission will ever remain so.

"It's simple," Batman had said, "get in, get out."

Who was he kidding?

The mission had been going relatively well, in Nightwing's opinion, until Kid Flash had tipped off the motion sensors trying to impress Blue Beetle.

Dick's not sure whether he should laugh or berate the kid when they get back to the Watchtower. Probably the former. He _was_ seriously bored by the time alpha squad had called for back-up.

Rejoining the Team had probably been one of his better decisions. Almost a full year after Wally's... _ceasing_ was certainly enough time for him to get his act together. Well, that's what he tells himself anyway.

Dodging a poorly aimed kick to his solar plexus, Nightwing brings an eskrima stick down to the back of the thug's neck, successfully rendering him unconscious. Bad guys are streaming out of the warehouse in waves and Dick wonders why a small-time arms-dealer in Blüdhaven has so many guards. Shaking his head, Dick flips over another balaclava-clad goon and uses his full weight to kick him forcefully to the hard ground before bringing his elbow back and connecting it to the forehead of another two-bit thug, knocking both men unconscious in seconds.

Smirking, Nightwing takes a second to glance around and take in the carnage that the Team have wrought on the bad guys. Alpha squad, Kid Flash, Robin, Tigress and Blue Beetle, work together flawlessly and efficiently. Beta squad - his own squad - consists of him, Batgirl, Lagoon Boy and Superboy. He'd like to say that they're working as well as Alpha but instead he's questioning Kaldur's decision to put Conner and La'gann in the same squad for the umpteenth time that night. The two have been 'competing' the whole time and have been grating on Nightwing's nerves like sandpaper on tender skin.

To his right, he spots Barbara taking out her opponents in droves and smiles. Her fighting has improved greatly over the years she's spent as Batgirl and the redheaded She-bat is a force to be reckoned with.

It's then that Nightwing notices the large masked-man looming behind his friend, large, silver gun in hand. _The Boss._

Eyes widening, Dick doesn't think - he just does. Kicking down another thug, who has spung up in front of him, without a second thought, he puts his legs in motion, as if on automatic, and begins the sprint.

Batgirl has not yet noticed the impending danger - too caught up in the most recent swath of unfortunate souls who have the nerve to challenge her - and Nightwing's breath catches in his throat as he launches himself over downed men like he were hopping over dead soldiers on a battlefield. He races towards them - closing the distance, only mere seconds away now - when a flash of silver catches his eye and he sees the Boss draw his weapon. A panicked cry erupts, unbidden, from his throat.

"Batgirl!"

Barbara stops to look his way, notices where he himself is staring, and whirls around to face the arms-dealer. By that point, it is too late for her to jumps out the way - the asshole is ready to fire.

As if it were his one goal all along, Dick closes the distance between himself and Barbara as the Boss fires the guns. Forcefully, he pushes Batgirl to the ground, putting himself in the space she'd occupied moments before.

He hears a surprised cry as Barbara topples to the ground, before a searing pain, unmeasurable by anything else, rips through his abdomen. With a sharp, harsh cry, Dick curls inward from the impact of the bullet before tumbling to the ground.

He thinks he hears an outraged, feminine, shriek before a pained cry from a man but he isn't sure over the ear-splitting pain. It feels as though he's been impaled with solid fire before having thousands of needle-sharp knives embedded in his stomach. He coughs, a painful, gurgling and wet hack. Blood spills from his lips.

Time seems to slip away so by the time he sees Barbara and Conner's concerned faces it could have been seconds or maybe even hours.

No, not hours. There's no way he could possibly deal with the pain for that long.

Suddenly, he's being lifted up bridal-style by Superboy. The jolt of movement unleashes a wounded cry from his lips which dulls into a whimper as blood rushes from his throat.

"You're gonna be fine," Superboy assures him as he rushes to the bio-ship where a concerned Miss Martian awaits.

It's then that Dick realizes, through the unbearable haze, that everything below the area in his body leaking blood and agony is numb. Not like going-into-shock-numb, he's had that before and even through the pain Dick can tell this is not the same.

His unsteady breath hitches in his throat.

"Conner," he tries to say to the clone, but is comes out as more than a whisper.

He knows the clone hears him anyway and is frustrated when he is ignored.

"Conner!" he tries again, this time louder.

"What is it?" comes the reply after he is laid down on the bio-ship's med-table.

The pain almost becomes too unbearable to speak again but after swallowing a clot of blood, Nightwing looks up at Superboy fearfully.

"I can't feel my legs."

* * *

Conner makes his way to the Watchtower's med-bay silently. The quiet padding of M'gann's feet beside him thunder in his ears. Their last mission replays over and over in his mind.

Shame burns his cheeks and light's them aflame in colour. Even though he knows that there was nothing that he could have done (he had been neck deep in scumbags at the time) but seeing Nightwing collapse into a growing pool of his own crimson life-fluid is scarred permanently into his brain. Along with the survivor's guilt.

Currently, a week after the incident, the Team are still unaware of their former leader's condition.

Conner keep's reassuring himself that Nightwing will be fine - he's seen his friend injured and seconds from death far too many times than he would like (which is not at all if possible) - but Dick's last words before losing consciousness are stuck in his mind.

_"I can't feel my legs."_

The fear in his friend's voice echoes in his skull with fear of his own. _What did Dick mean by that?_

They've reached the medical ward and the two proceed in mutual anticipation to the viewing gallery where Conner knows Artemis and Kaldur are waiting for them. Once they get there, they're met with Aqualad, standing still like a statue, and a worried Tigress, biting her lip as she stares through the one-way glass.

Standing beside Artemis, Conner follows her gaze into the hospital room before him. A small wave of relief rushes through him like a wave as he sees Dick, maskless, in the only bed, most definitely awake.

"He's only been conscious about five minutes," Artemis informs him, as if reading his mind.

Soundlessly, he nods as he watches Dick converse with Batman, who is sat on the visitor's chair beside him. Conner cannot hear the conversation - the walls of the medical wing have been soundproofed against even himself and Clark (the whole patient confidentiality thing) - so he instead watches with growing dread as Dick's already sickly features blanch and he throws his arms around the (surprisingly) comforting Bat.

Conner places the amount of times he's seen the acrobat cry in the space where all the rarities he's witnessed go. He's seen him cry before - there was that particularly difficult time with Robin and Batman's constant arguments - the ones that eventually led him to become Nightwing - and Conner would never forget how devastated Dick had been after Jason died.

But he doesn't think he's ever seen him like this. The fighting had brought angry tears, and Jason's fate had seen an immense sadness before he had begun distancing himself from others. But now, Conner watches in alarm as Dick breaks down in his adoptive father's arms, silent sobs jarring his heart.

Conner can practically smell the fear.

A choking sound from behind him makes him turn finding M'gann with tears streaming down her face and green hands covering her mouth. Conner would reckon that she knows more than she's letting on.

Without uttering a word, he watches on as Batgirl rushes into the room, cowl down and face flushed. Barbara stands stock-still as a teary-faced Dick says something before her resolve crumbles and tears spill from her eyes. She rushes forward and embraces him tightly, whispering something into his ear. Next comes Tim, mask and all, who runs into the room and embraces his brother before any words can be spoken. When he is told something (presumably what has got the entire Bat family dissolving in tears) he rips of his mask and rubs furiously at his eyes before embracing Dick again. Reluctantly, Batman encircles his arms around his protégés and Conner would find the whole scenario touching if he weren't grinding his teeth in anxiety.

The wound wasn't... _that_ bad was it?

It's another half-hour later before Conner finally enters the room. Batman had reluctantly managed to pry Tim and Barbara away to collect themselves, leaving Dick alone beneath the hospital sheets.

By the time that Conner has sat himself down in the chair which Batman had recently vacated, Dick's tears have dried but his eyes are red and puffy and he's taken to staring vaguely at the mirror (one-way window) directly before him.

The room remains completely silent for roughly five minutes before Dick finally speaks, his voice raw and hoarse.

"The bullet lodged itself into my spine," he says quietly, "paralyzing me from the waist down."

Conner feels as though he has forgotten to breathe for a moment, before suddenly he remembers and takes in a sharp gasp.

"Shit," he stutters, surprise evident in his voice because of all the possibilities _he was not expecting that._

"My thoughts exactly," Dick chuckles, but his laugh is bitter and without mirth.

Conner catches himself to stop from asking if his friend is okay because, obviously, he is most certainly not.

Silence resumes.

Conner chokes on it as if it is laced with kryptonite.

"Bye bye, Nightwing," Dick sighs, "bye bye acrobatics."

"I'm sorry," Conner says helplessly, because he doesn't know what else to say.

"Me too."

"Are you okay?" he asks despite himself.

"Not really."

"You will be though," Conner tells him, trying to sound comforting, "okay, I mean. Things'll get better, right?"

He cringes as he says it. He's never been spectacular at encouraging words or pep talks. Actually, that job had always been Dick's. Go figure.

"Thanks, Conner," Dick sniffles and Conner looks up from his hands to find him crying once more.

He doesn't think he's ever seen Dick look so devastated.

"...No problem," he says finally.

This is continued by another five minutes of silence before Conner decides he needs to excuse himself to punch something. Standing up, he is about to utter a goodbye to his friend before a hand shoots out and snaps around his wrist.

"Conner," Dick says, his voice wavering, "don't tell the Team. _Please._ "

"I won't" he promises before exiting the room.

The door slides shut and, unable to take it anymore, he unleashes an animalistic roar and slams his fist through the closest wall. The outburst leaves a sizable dent but does little to soothe his raging emotions.

_It's just not fair._

* * *

It's been a month since Nightwing told the Team he couldn't be Nightwing anymore. A month since Dick Grayson has been wheelchair bound.

A month since the idiot has been wallowing in self-pity.

Artemis rings the magnificent doorbell to Wayne Manor. After Dick's apartment in Blüdhaven had been deemed un-wheelchair-worthy (the elevator was almost permanently out of use and his living space was just _too small_ to navigate on wheels), he'd been forced to move back to the Manor temporarily.

He hadn't been happy about that.

Dick had been torn up enough by the fact that he couldn't leap from buildings in spandex and Kevlar anymore and things only got worse when he had to resign from the Blüdhaven PD and reveal his _predicament_ to the press.

Queue wallowing in his room (pity-pad, Barbara had dubbed it) and refusing to come to terms with his new life.

Artemis is having none of that. It had been Dick who had slowly and patiently coaxed her out of her own self-pity and depression after Wally died. She'd be damned if she let the filthy hypocrite ignore his own advice any further.

The large door opens to reveal Alfred, a polite, welcoming smile on his face.

"Good morning, Miss Artemis," he greets, as formal as ever, "to what does Wayne Manor owe for the pleasure of your visit?"

Artemis smiles as she steps into the warm foyer - a comfortable contrast to the chilly air outside. She had moved back to Gotham after completing her studies at Stanford and had become a regular at the Manor and Batcave - which she is proud to have the privilege to be trusted with - having become a near constant amongst the Bats of the Gotham skyline. Even patrolling Blüdhaven every now and again as a female Nightwing (something she'd never get used to) to uphold Dick's only request of her (a request she had been honoured to fulfill).

"Just visiting today, Alfred," she says, "There's a long overdue chat I need to have with a certain oaf upstairs."

"Then I won't keep you any longer," Alfred smiles with a twinkle in his eye and a knowing glance.

With a smile, Artemis bids the butler goodbye before heading up the grand staircase and down the familiar hallway. Stopping outside the familiar mahogany door, Artemis raps loudly on the smart wood.

"Oi, Grayson," she calls out, her voice carrying, "I'm coming in in ten seconds so if you're naked, do something about it!"

There's a muffled snort from behind her and Artemis turns to find an amused Tim leaving his room. She ruffles his hair with a smirk and he complains, trying to free himself from her strong grasp.

Eventually, she frees him and he ducks to avoid another embrace and makes his way down the staircase.

"Good luck!" he calls with vanishing mirth "you're going to need it!"

Then, like a bat, he's gone.

Apprehension visibly forming on her brow, Artemis turns back to the door before banging on it again.

"I'm coming in!"

She doesn't get a reply. She wasn't really expecting one.

Opening the door, Artemis finds Dick (surprise, surprise) in bed. Where he's been the last four times she's visited. He rarely uses the wheelchair (which she knows he despises) that is situated next to the bed and there's a ghost of stubble on his face that has just begun to grow back.

"Hey there, Stranger," she greets with an amused smirk.

She collapses in the ornate armchair next to Dick's bed and dumps her bag on the floor.

"Hey, 'Mis," Dick murmurs.

So it's not all warm and cuddly but at least he's acknowledging her presence. That's a milestone in itself.

"What have you been up to?"

"Nothin' much."

Artemis raises an unimpressed eyebrow.

"Obviously."

Dick glances her way before sighing in frustration.

"I'm _fine,_ Artemis, if that's why you're here."

"It's not," Artemis replies pleasantly.

She's grown used to Dick's _fun_ new behaviour.

Curious, Dick pulls himself up so that he's half-sitting half-slumping and looks at Artemis where she sits. This gives Artemis the chance to give him the once over.

His face is gaunt, and Artemis knows that he hasn't been eating properly since the... _incident_ despite Alfred's efforts. The poor old man had asked Artemis to help with that. She's still unsuccessful as of yet.

At least he's sleeping. As Nightwing, she knew that his sleeping schedule was next to non-existent and he'd been working himself to the ground so at least he won't be tired anymore. The only problem is that all he's done for the past month is sleep. And wallow. And sleep again.

"Why are you here then?"

Grinning, Artemis reaches into her bag and withdraws a fancy camera her mother had scraped her funds together to buy her for her birthday.

"To re-create some memories."

Dick eyes the camera with suspicion before turning his nose up at it.

"I don't feel like it," he decides finally.

Artemis snorts.

"I don't care," she says firmly.

And she doesn't. Artemis has never been a wishy-washy kind of girl. She's strong, no-nonsense and passionate. This doesn't mean that she can't be kind or sympathetic - hell, Wally had managed to transform her into something _squishy_ beneath her hard exterior over the years they'd been together - but she's still Artemis. Still the girl raised by her mercenary father, trained to kill a man in ten different ways before she was ten years-old.

" _Please, Artemis,_ " he whines pitifully.

" _Please, Dick,_ " Artemis mocks with a smile.

Dick groans before pulling the duvet up over his head.

" _No._ "

" _Yes,_ " Artemis smirks, "Now get in your chair before I throw you in there."

Dick's head resurfaces from beneath the covers and familiar blue eyes glare at her.

"You're not going to go away are you?"

"Nope," Artemis replies, popping the 'p' enthusiastically.

Getting up, Artemis slings her bag over her shoulder and throws the covers back, exposing Dick to the mid-morning light. He groans and tries to cover his face but Artemis does not relent. Instead, she grabs the idiot by his shoulders and drags him to the edge of the bed (a task that's easier than she would like - he's a lot lighter than he used to be) and gives him a slap at the back of the head. With a grunt, Dick lowers himself into the chair and Artemis helps him untangle his unresponsive limbs and set them straight.

She doesn't miss his wince when he sees his legs which are quickly losing their previously defined muscles and are turning to scrawny and bony appendages. She knows that he sees her flinch.

She's too ashamed to apologize.

When Dick is as comfortably sat as he'll ever be, Artemis wheel's him from the room, down the hallway and stops at the stairs. A large grin forms across her face.

"No, Artemis," Dick warns, realizing what she is about to do, "no, no, no, no, no!"

"Oh, yes!" she squeals as she pushes forward excitedly and they go down the stairs in a bumpy, raucous fashion.

Artemis' laughs ring out through the large room and drown out Dick's panicked yelps as he grips the armrests in terror. They reach the bottom with another almighty lurch and find a disapproving Alfred, who's trying his very hardest not to smile.

"If you would please refrain from trying to kill Master Richard, Miss Artemis, that would be appreciated," he says with a withering stare.

Artemis just smiles and pats Dick on the shoulder.

"Don't worry, Alfred," she reassures him, "he loves it really."

Dick shoots her a glare from over his shoulder and crosses his arms over his chest. He pouts but says nothing. Artemis smirks.

She wheels him out of the front door, deciding to take him around the lavish grounds surrounding the Manor. She reckons that he needs some fresh air. The garden will have to do - anywhere else is too far away.

The pair fall into a comfortable silence as Artemis takes him down one of the numerous pathways that snake around the fragrant flowerbeds. The grass and foliage are wet from the rain that fell in the night and, looking at the sky, Artemis thinks that it may unleash another torrent sometime soon. She doesn't talk, she doesn't feel she needs to.

After roughly a half-hour or so, the clouds do exactly what she had feared. Rain falls in sheets and Artemis breaks into a quick jog, pushing a complaining Dick in front of her, into the shelter of a few dense Fir trees. The ground is dry here and so Artemis flops down onto the dead pine needles and pulls her camera out to make sure that it has not got wet.

Dick gazes quietly out into the rain and fingers the ugly tartan blanket that is draped over his legs. He smiles a little and this fills Artemis with hope.

"Thanks for not giving up on me, 'Mis," he thanks her quietly.

She smiles, before punching him in the arm.

"No problem, Wonder-boy," she murmurs before standing up.

Turning on the camera, she moves into a half-crouch next to Dick's side and hold it out in front of them, the lens facing their way.

"We'll laugh about this someday," she grins before snapping the shutter.

Bringing the camera back, she takes a look at the photo and smiles warmly.

It's similar to the photo which Dick had taken all those years ago at Gotham Academy. The only changes are the obvious signs of age (Dick had been such a scrawny thing back then) and the fact that this time it is Artemis who is grinning and Dick who has been caught unassuming.

Times have changed and - hell - they've changed more than she'd could ever imagine but Artemis is certain that one day, some day, the two of them will be alright.

* * *

It's been four months since Dick was shot and paralyzed from the waist down and in Tim's opinion, his brother is doing remarkably well.

The first month after the _accident_ had been touch-and-go. The shock of losing the use of his legs, and furthermore ending life as he knew it, had taken its toll on Dick and so he had spent the first couple of weeks a recluse. He never left his room and seemed to be perfectly content with letting his own self-pity swallow him whole.

Tim can't blame him. He can't even imagine never being able to walk again. The very thought is daunting in itself and must be ten times worse for Dick - who had, up 'til then, been _flying_ his entire life.

He would never do the quadruple somersault again.

After it became evident that his brother's attitude towards his new life were not improving, Tim had taken it upon himself, along with Barbara, Artemis, Conner and a few others, to cheer him up and bring back the _old_ Dick. The one who talked too much, smiled more often and used too many puns.

With slow, patient and steady progress, his brother gradually came to accept that the wheelchair by his bedside would not go away and actually needed to be _used_ every once in a while.

Now, four months A.P (After Paralysis), the former circus-kid is cheerful again. Tim's accepted by now that maybe the _old_ Dick will never come back but that's okay if it means that there's a _new_ Dick Grayson in town (one that still flirts with Barbara as if there's no tomorrow).

Four months on and Tim still doesn't think he'll ever get used to his idiot of a big brother calling him home from the Watchtower, insisting it's of the utmost importance, before showing off a new wheelie or spin he has now mastered in his chair.

Still, it keeps him occupied.

Keeping Dick busy is proving to be a menace. He can't keep still, even if he's confined to a chair. About three weeks ago, Bruce had insisted that even though Dick would never crime fight again, he should still stay in shape and keep up his upper-body strength.

Surprisingly, Dick had agreed enthusiastically and that was the day the training room had been converted into a jungle gym. Dick would have to navigate his way through the hanging equipment with only his arms.

Tim had had to join in. It had looked so fun. Turns out it's a lot harder than first thought.

"Yoo-hoo," a hand wave in front of his face, snapping Tim out from his thoughts, "You in there, Timmy?"

"...Yep," he manages, coming back to reality.

He and Dick are in the Batcave and it's a late Saturday night. To be honest, Tim would rather be out on patrol with Bruce but after a run in with Harley's mallet that left his radius bone painfully broken, he's stuck monitoring the batcomputer with his brother.

Recently, Dick has begun helping out with the crime-fighting in Gotham (much to Bruce and Alfred's immense displeasure) by taking up his old interest in technology. Currently, he's monitoring the entirety of Gotham through every security camera in the city. This way, he can spot a crime practically before it happens and then radio Batman to take care of it.

It's not as exciting as taking an unauthorised skydive from the Gotham Life building but at least he's enjoying it.

Personally, Tim is glad to hear his brother's voice over the communicator once more.

With Dick's unparalleled hacking skills, he's branching out and has his eyes and ears in Blüdhaven, Metropolis and Star City too. Tim reckons that pretty soon he'll have the whole of America under his watchful gaze.

It kind of creeps him out a bit. That is some _serious_ power. Tim's just glad that it's Dick that's doing this and not someone more... _dangerous._

(Not that Tim doesn't think Dick isn't dangerous - he's actually more in awe of him now than he's ever been. Even more so now than being Robin or Nightwing.)

Fingers click in front of his nose and Tim blinks back into reality once more.

"W-what?" he stutters.

He can't believe that he's zoned out _twice_ now.

"I _said,_ " Dick grins in the pale fluorescent light, "what are you thinking about?"

Tim contemplates his answer for a moment, watching as Alfred comes down the stone steps with a tray of hot beverages in hand. Tea for Tim, Coffee for Dick.

"I was just wondering if you'd ever think about rejoining the hero community." he says at last.

Alfred shoots him a discouraging glance as he sets the tray down and hands the boys their drinks.

Dick doesn't answer for a while, silently stirring his coffee as he gazes at the many screens before him.

"I was thinking about it," he replies quietly.

A small smile forms on Tim's face before he scalds his tongue on the hot tea and curses profusely, much to Alfred's displeasure. Regaining his composure, hope fills his stomach in a fluttering type of way.

"And?" he prompts.

"And I reckon I'm gonna need a new name," his brother smiles.

Grinning, Tim sets his tea down in order for it to cool off somewhat before chuckling quietly.

"What, 'Computer-man' isn't cutting it for you?"

Dick barks out a familiar laugh that Tim is pleased to say is becoming more and more regular.

"Nah, I was thinking..."

"Yeah?"

"I was thinking 'Prophet'."

A grin forms on Tim's face once more and he swings around in the swivel-chair like he used to when he'd just started out in the Batcave.

_Prophet_. He likes it.

* * *

_Recognized: Batgirl, B-16_

It's with a weary sigh that echoes the state of her fatigued body that Barbara materializes at the Watchtower for her shift of monitor duty. It's not the most thrilling job in the world but it has to be done and is a mandatory part of her co-leadership duties of the Team.

Things had been crazy ever since the Reach Invasion ended almost a full two years ago (it had been crazy before that too but Barbara doesn't like to think about that) and she feels as though she hasn't had one day off the entire time.

(She has, but those times have been filled with studying and library shifts.)

She makes her way tiredly to the living area where she fully intends on collapsing on the comfortable sofa before bringing out the holo-computer, already hoping for a quiet night.

Entering the room, a smile creeps onto her tired features as she spots the familiar unruly jet black hair covering the back of Dick's head. He's got his back to her and is typing a mile-a-minute on the laptop situated on his lap. Silently, Barbara pads up behind him and snakes her arms around his shoulders.

He doesn't start, instead turning his head to face her with a lazy grin. His shades have slipped halfway down his nose, revealing his sparkling blue eyes, and Barbara would warn him about secret identities if there were anyone here. Besides, she's always liked his eyes.

"You need to work on your stealth BG," he chuckles, "I could hear you halfway down the hall."

Barbara rolls her eyes. He hasn't changed one bit and she's glad for it. He's still the hard-working leader he was two years ago. She's even grown used to seeing him in the wheelchair now - it's been a year since that night in Blüdhaven and Barbara feels that only recently have things returned to a sort of normalcy.

She kisses him lightly on the cheek, sweet and tender, before she withdraws and goes to sit next to his chair on the sofa.

"Monitor duty?" he asks.

"Mmm," she hums in reply, her voice drained.

She's been on her toes all day. It's a Saturday so she had an early morning shift at the library before training, and later a mission to Peru with the Team. Arriving in Gotham late, her night is filled by patrol of her home city with Batman and Robin before Tim then joins her in Blüdhaven for a quick round-up. She stopped being accompanied by Artemis in her customized Nightwing costume (apparently finger stripes were the new sexy) after the former Archer had resumed her work as Tigress and had returned to Star City temporarily to help Green Arrow train an aspiring archer by the name of Mia Dearden.

"Are you alright?" Dick asks, concerned, "You look distracted."

"Mmm," she murmurs again, rubbing her eyes tiredly.

"Well get _tracted_ or you'll have a buttload of work to do in the morning and we both know you're not a morning-"

"Alright, alright!" Barbara exclaims, interrupting her boyfriend.

She opens her eyes and smiles at Dick. She's glad to hear his casual mincing of the English language but is sad to see that those pesky glasses have been pushed up and in front of his eyes again. He's gone back to furiously typing on the fast-wearing keyboard of his beloved computer.

The two are practically inseparable. It's like a love story.

If Barbara remembers correctly, it's been eight months since Dick started out as the 'Prophet', renowned and technical genius, all-seeing eye over, well, _everything._ Furthermore, it's been four months since he returned to the Team once more under his new moniker.

He'd taken up Mal's old job of Mission Controller at the Watchtower, organising and relaying the Team exactly where they are needed. He even does so with the League sometimes. Barbara is very proud of him.

Sighing, the Redhead brings up the holo-computer and sets to work reading and interpreting all the mission debriefings from the past month. Exciting. _Not._ Fortunately for Barbara, she's used to dreary data-collecting from the library and so she pushes through the fatigue to make sure her job gets done and she can go home.

"What's for dinner tonight, Babs?" Dick asks her absently as he types.

Barbara sighs resignedly but there's mirth in her eyes.

"Nothing if I don't finish up this report so shut up."

"Ooh, touchy," Dick grins and pokes her in the shoulder.

Playfully, Barbara slaps his hand away and goes back to reading.

"I'm warning you, Grayson," she chides, "if you don't behave yourself then you'll starve."

"I can cook you know," Dick feigns hurt.

"I know," Barbara smirks, "But you just want my famous lasagna."

"Not true."

"Yes too."

"No."

"Stop it now, Dick."

"That's not what you said last night."

Heat creeping up her cheeks, Batgirl turns to face Prophet with an incredulous expression on her face.

"Really?" she raises a mischievous eyebrow, "was that really necessary?"

"I like to think it was perfectly necessary."

Dick is grinning again and Barbara can't help but grin back. It's been hard and bitter and the two of them have almost given up too many times but despite it all, they're still together and Barbara wouldn't have it any other way.

"So what _are_ we having lasagna tonight?"

With a weary chuckle, she silences him with a kiss.

He doesn't complain.

* * *

Dick is embarrassed. Actually, _fuck that_ , he's totally and completely humiliated. He can't pretend that just because he has accepted that he will never walk again, everything is easy. It's not. Actually, it's still sometimes very depressing but he doesn't like to think about that because crying about it is not going to help him any time soon.

Dick has always been a largely independent person. Even now, in the wheelchair, he insists on doing everything himself without any help.

He could do with some help right now.

Seeing as he spent a lot of time in the Batcave, Dick had taken to using the vast and largely _unused_ communal showers adjacent to the training room to wash himself as he found it easier to navigate the chair around (rather than his small en-suite upstairs).

When he'd entered the shower room, it had only been he and Alfred at home, and the latter had currently been preparing that night's roast. It's been an hour since then.

He'd taken to just sitting under the shower head and letting the water cascade over his shoulders, even long after the last trace of soap has been washed down the drain. He finds it oddly soothing.

At some point, Dick decided to shut off the water - dinner must have been ready soon. It's at that point that he sincerely wished he'd told Alfred where he was going.

Currently, Dick is slumped, still in the shower room, against the tiled wall. His naked body is still wet but now he's quite cold. At the end of the stall lies his wheelchair, on it's side, the seat itself sopping wet. On his way back to the chair after shutting off the water, Dick had slipped on the wet ground and had sent the chair spiraling out of control.

Not only had his nice, dry clothes been flung into a puddle where they absorbed the wet faster than he could pick them up, but the wheelchair's brakes had failed, rendering it useless to him.

He'd been complaining to Bruce about the dodgy brakes for the past month but not once had he bothered to take the time to sort them out. Karma is a bitch.

Finally giving up on repairing the chair without any tools, Dick had dragged himself back to the middle of the room. Right now, he just didn't have the energy: he'd been up all night guiding Batman through Gotham's sewers on the hunt for Killer Croc and can't actually remember whether he ate the sandwiches which Alfred had graciously made for him or not. Not good.

He's starting to shiver now but Dick makes no attempt to move. He doesn't fancy dragging himself out of the shower room and through the Batcave naked. Not only would Jason never let him live it down if he caught wind of such an event but Dick is too exhausted right now to even bother continuing his calls for assistance (he'd stopped after half an hour as his throat had become hoarse).

It's roughly five or ten minutes later, give or take, when Dick just hears the footsteps hurrying down the staircase over his chattering teeth.

"Dick?" he hears a voice call and relief floods into his veins like fire as he recognises the voice's owner.

"Bruce!" he calls back, voice rough.

"Dick?" he hears again, "where are you?"

Dick sneezes.

"In the showers!" he replies, finally.

The scurrying footsteps get louder and change in sound as the floor changes to tiles beneath the feet. The loafers squeak on the wet ground before they come to a halt.

Dick spots Bruce and offers him a small smile.

"Hey," he murmurs with a small wave.

Dick watches as Bruce stares at him, shivering and exposed, and then the feeble wheelchair, defeated and laying on its side. Wordlessly, he disappears for a moment before returning with a towel.

Gingerly, Bruce drapes the towel around him, trying not to get it wet, before lifting him up, embarrassingly easily, into his arms.

"Are you alright Dick?" he asks, concern evident, "how long have you been down here?"

Dick sneezes again and smiles sleepily.

"About an hour," he manages around a yawn.

"C'mon, Chum," Bruce smiles at him before turning around and heading out of the bathroom.

"Where are we going?" Dick asks, fully aware that he is clothed only in a towel.

"Well first you're going to get dressed," Bruce tells him, "then you're going to eat. _And then_ we're going to see what we can do about this cold you've developed."

"I haven't got a cold!" Dick exclaims defensively.

He sneezes. Once, twice, three times. He wipes the snot on the towel and wrinkles his nose in disgust. _Okay,_ maybe he does.

"Hey, Bruce?" he pipes up as they begin the ascent up the stairs.

"Yes, Dick?"

"Thanks."

Bruce smiles down at him.

"No problem, Chum."

Dick smiles to himself and lets himself be carried all the way to his room. To heck with independence. Sometimes he _needs_ help. Even if he is too stubborn to admit it most of the time.

The road to recovery has been a treacherous one and honestly? Dick had been all for abandoning the journey at least a dozen times ever since it began but it's not so bad now. He feels _content_ even.

Maybe life _can't_ be perfect, but this right here is pretty damn close.

He sneezes again.

More or less, anyway.


End file.
